I'm in the middle of a misunderstanding of Miranda-sized
proportions. My friend is currently viewing a flat. Not any old
flat but the flat right next door to my therapist. If their
doormats were any closer they'd need to get a room. I gave her a
lift to the viewing and now I'm trapped outside in my car waiting
for her to return. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see my
therapist appear at my car window. Oh shit. She thinks I'm
here for her.
I can imagine how this looks. Her face seems to be registering
surprise and terror at the same time. She probably thinks I'm
secretly in love with her and drive here often just to sit outside
her house. I am that lesbian stalker she's read about in The Daily
Mail. She must know that's not in my nature? I'm an avoider not a
stalker.
I want to scream, "It's not what it looks like. I can explain!"
But instead I gesture a silent acknowledgement. I raise my hand but
don't actually follow through with the wave, so my now raised hand
is just hanging in the air like an admission of guilt. Less of a
"hello" and more, "Fair cop. You caught me."
I don't even think I'm supposed to say, "Hello"? The first rule of
therapy is don't contact your therapist out of your allocated hour.
The second rule of therapy is don't contact your therapist out of
your allocated hour. The third rule of therapy is - and I'm
guessing here - don't curb crawl your therapist.
I could just say nothing and tough it out, but instead I wind down
the window and attempt to explain the situation the reason for my
presence. Just as I finish my unconvincing tale my friend
re-appears, jumps into the passenger seat, and delivers her
verdict: "No way I could live here. It's a dump." Oh God I thought
there was nothing worse than my friend moving next door to my
therapist, but I was wrong. Dissing her hood is so much worse. I
raise my eyebrows at the therapist as if to say, "She's clearly
mad." She just calmly tilts her head to one side, gives me 'the
look', and says, "We can talk about this on Monday."
